


Prompt Drabbles

by crackmonkeytrash



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabbles, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 09:17:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackmonkeytrash/pseuds/crackmonkeytrash
Summary: Various Drabbles, written from prompts.So far they are only Harrymort (hp), but I am welcome to write for others.If you want to send me a prompt, my ask is always open over at crackmonkeytrash.tumblr.com





	1. Conquer

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "You and I are going to Conquer the Universe"

“One day, darling, you and I are going to conquer the Universe, not just our world.” 

Harry paused, lifting his eyes from the tedious legislature he was advising and raising them to look as his husband. His electric green eyes piercing Voldemort’s semi-translucent skin with a dull stare.

“While I find that lovely, and honestly inevitable, we’re going to have to figure out how to convince The Amazon to join with us; they’ve been hindering us at every corner, we’eve already lost dozens of men, and all you’ve been doing is monologuing.”

Ruby eyes rolled toward the ceiling at Harry’s dramatics. One would think that he would just relax, they had the world feeding from their palms like the insects they were. Yes, there were small hitches along the way, but honestly? Nobody had the power to defeat The Master of Death and his Immortal Dark Lord, not even close. Besides, he had just recently sent out a task for his precious Nagini to deal with them along with her own Reptilian squadron of sorts, leaving under the care of Fenrir quite soon.

Levelling a smirk at his bedraggled, overworked young Husband, Voldemort slowly stalked toward the red oak desk Harry sat at, and placed his long clawed hands on those fragile-appearing shoulders and began to massage. Leaning down to curl a whisper into his ear, Voldemort whispered.

“Come and relax, darling, I already have it dealt with.”

Harry rose an eyebrow with a hitched breath as a serpentine tongue traced the shell of his ear. 

“Oh really? And I was not informed because…”

“You know me much better than that, love. Let us conquer something else for now…”

Harry closed his eyes with a fond sigh. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, but, with a lecherous smirk curving his lips, conquerors often dealt in punishments and revenge; what better place than the bedroom to enact such events?

“Yes, dear, let’s… Conquer.”


	2. Footslave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I won't mind being your footslave"
> 
> Harry Potter being the slave

“Yeah, sure. I won’t at all mind being your footslave.” Harry muttered under his breath, rolling his vibrant green eyes; as if.

“Oh, goody! I knew you’d agree!”

“…Wait, what?” 

The uncharacteristically childish response of his previous archenemy, combined with the startling abruptness of the entire situation distracted Harry enough that he didn’t protest as Voldemort ushered him, with a large, cold hand against the small of his back, through the halls. The cold marble flooring practically radiated an elegant cool that esconsed the walls, and silent portraits he did not recognize lowered their eyes as their Lord past. His black robes sweeping, occasionally revealing the pale, semi translucent, bare feet, gliding unperturbed by the unforgiving stone. How, Harry wondered, did he never wear shoes? 

He hadn’t realized that he wasn’t paying attention, until a strong and smooth hand was placed on his jaw and gently dragged his face up to look Voldemort in the eyes. He blinked, confused, as the other hand swept around to grip his side, large enough that his fingertips simultaneously skimmed his upper waist and hip bone at once, sharp nail scraping gently against the bone in a way that had him shivering minutely at the unexpected sensual action.

“I.. what’s going on?”

A hairless eyebrow raised and a falsely-innocent expression graced the man’s face, as he massaged his fingers on the underside of Harry’s jaw, grazing his pulse point with serpentine claws; Harry’s breath hitched in unease. 

“Why, do you not realize?”

He gestured the room with a pointed flick of his eyes, eliciting Harry to do the same. A large, king sized ebony canopy bed, with black silk sheets and deep green canopy, and a large luxury fur throw placed diagonally on top, was the centrepiece of the room. While the room did have other focals, such as a velvet deep-green sitting chair and mahogany small table next to a corner miniature library, and small velvet green chaired sitting area with small table next to a towering window, the bed drew much more attention. Slowly realizing the implications of this room, recognizing it to be Voldemort’s own private bedroom, his eyes widened significantly. 

Once again pulled up to look into crimson red eyes, a smirk and a tilted head greeted him. 

“You did agree, Harry;” he practically purred the name, sending shivers down and through Harry’s body, “and after all, it would be rude to refuse the inevitable.”

With a surge of unrestrained magic, the chest in front of the large bed opened, and a small stream of objects came floating out towards them. Harry looked around uncertainly, heat rising in his chest. He stuttered out a last ditch hesitance, the soft scraping of claws against his pulse point and hip bone, swirling lower and at the barest edge of his trousers almost having him quake and give in.

“Ah, isn’t a footslave’s… duties, more along the lines of a maid’s?”

Voldemort chuckled.

“Not quite, my dear.”

Taking in the red ribbon, ties, and interesting little devices allayed out in front of him, Harry swallowed nervously. The dim of the candles and sudden lifting of his hips further into the large masculine body behind him, and simultaneous strain of his arms being lifted above his head, had Harry arching further into Voldemort, whining softly in the candlelight.

“I.. ah, I suppose I did agree… master.”

Voldemort smirked; what a slave indeed.


	3. Footslave v.2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "of course I won't mind being your footslave"
> 
> Voldemort being the slave this time ;)

“Yes, of course, I won’t at all mind being your foot slave.” Voldemort drawled sarcastically, rolling his ruby serpentine eyes. What kind of--

“Oh, goody! I knew you’d agree!” 

“...Wait, what?” 

Harry was bouncing on his toes with a joyous grin, a little too sharp of a grin when he really looked, his vibrant green eyes practically beaming out smug content. 

Voldemort’s brow bone furrowed, absolutely stumped as to what was happening; which is why he had no clear dissent when that small soft hand gripped his own, dragging him only the Gods knew where. His eyes were locked in bewilderment on the lithely built frame of the young man in front of him, the raven locks flowing and ebbing in the air as if underwater, without force. This boy, this incomprehensible wizard, he was chalk full of contradiction and sultry innocence, all wrapped up in a small, beautiful, ethereal package.

It had been many months since the ravenette overthrew the Phoenix Order to join forces with the Lord of Walpurgis, effectively deciding the political upheaval of the previously unsure country. Harry hadn’t entered the scene conventionally by any means, charming his way through the Squibs and General People’s, sweeping the nation quietly, before viciously ripping the plush carpet from under the Light Leader Albus Dumbledore’s pompous feet in a move that would shake the nation for ages to come.

He was drawn out of his inner mulling when deft fingers unclasped his robe, quickly snatched swiftly by himself. Before he had the chance to reprimand Harry, the boy used a tangent pulse of magic against his collarbone, that digressed him of his outer robe. Shocked, and mildly enraged at the pernicious behaviour of his young partner, Voldemort once again went to speak before interrupted, much to his steadily growing ire.

“Now now, pet. You did agree to be my slave, did you not? Don’t worry, nothing will be... unenjoyable. Now, strip.”

Harry stood impishly, smirking with a pleased gleam painted on his uniquely sculpted face, an artfully mixtured visage comprised of ages of ancestors pieced together, all formed into this mischievous little firecracker. 

Interested in where this was going, Voldemort followed along; for now.


End file.
